Tune into free audio/webcam clips from the week in conservative talk radio, including:
- Savage calls Obama “insane”
- Limbaugh slags Republicans
- Glenn Beck reaches out to Bill Maher
Mark Steyn and Hugh Hewitt talk about beach volleyball, Steyn’s upcoming appearance in Minnesota, and more. (Free audio.)
Learn more about Tar Sands Messiah and how you can help crowdfund it.
‘Another striking phenomenon is the massive drop in the percentage of black people among those killed by cops’
From 1976 to 1980, exactly half of JHBLEO victims (967 of 1,934) were black.
The trend since then has been down.
For the most recent five years available, 2008-2012, it’s about 30 percent.
At tech conference, liberal men (including one pretending to be a chick?) pretend to care about women’s problems
Later, I saw this firsthand as an attendee I’d befriended over way too many matches of Speed Chess processed the stuff he’d taken to heart over a beer with me. It’s noteworthy that at a normal event I’d be extremely wary of sitting down for a beer with a guy I didn’t know to begin with, much less willing to share a cab home like we’d done the night before, brows knit in a troubled chat about Gamergate. Having identified as female for quite a while now, the accounts of vengeful sexism didn’t shake me in quite the same way (they do that every day!), but watching that sink in for him as he actively listened to my own unsavory stories was an indescribably powerful experience. (…)
Paul Ford gave the final talk. I’d followed his Internet handle, @ftrain, and his floppy disc avatar for a while. On stage, he explained that in Brookyn, he used to watch the F slip by his window. It was a chilling coincidence then when he paused to quietly confide in the audience that years before, he’d considered stepping in front of a train, stepping out of his own life. Instead, he went home and told his wife. He built things online, took the solace he could in technology, in the process and the processing, in building better tools to remember it all—to remember things that weren’t even his to remember, like what his dad might have listened to on the radio.
My friend Julie was killed by a train, but not that train. Before I knew anything about technology, I took the F train to work every morning. I always liked how it flickered into the dark subway tunnels and back out again over the East River, playing chicken with the light.
In XOXO’s final moments, two tearful Andys (founders McMillan and Baio) took the stage to dedicate the whole event, all of those hacks and dreams and feelings, to their friend, Chloe Weil. On July 9, Baio’s blog reads “For the second time in 18 months, I’ve lost a friend to depression—a unique, young talent with their greatest years ahead of them.” Her Instagram avatar is a pixelated cat wearing sunglasses. In pictures, she looks funny and young and smart, not lost. “Chloe Weil tasted words.”
Gavin McInnes writes:
James Foley had been abducted before. In 2011 he was detained while reporting on the Libyan civil war. Why did he go back? Was it because we need “reporting”? This is 2014. The jihadists upload videos themselves. In a bizarre twist of irony, that’s how we know who James Foley is. We have Twitter and Facebook and Instagram and everyone has a cell phone. I’m not sure we need you anymore. Same goes for the Scotsman David Haines, who was beheaded while working as a humanitarian in Syria. Dude, you have two kids at home. What were you thinking?
It’s profoundly unfashionable to consider, but is it possible that some of these people have a lust for martyrdom? Our president is being criticized for not reacting more strongly to these beheadings, but they weren’t diplomats or members of our military. This isn’t the Archduke Franz Ferdinand. We’re talking about people who knowingly strolled into hell.
To understand the dancing you have to understand the music. The northern soul scene blossomed in the 1970s, when DJs would hunt down rare black American soul 45s and bring them back to play in venues across the north-west of England. The music – inspired heavily by the Motown sound, with fast tempos and a simple 4-4 beat – was a dancer’s dream.
Because the scene embraced competitiveness, with DJs trying to outdo each other by playing the rarest vinyl, so too the dancefloor became a showcase for audacious moves: spins, backdrops, high kicks.
In the book Last Night A DJ Saved My Life: the history of the DJ, the authors describe northern soul as “a genre built from failures”, stating: “…Northern Soul was the music made by hundreds of singers and bands who were copying the Detroit sound of Motown pop. Most of the records were complete failures in their own time and place… but in northern England from the end of the 1960s through to its heyday in the middle 1970s, were exhumed and exalted.
Ontario has always taken a hard line when it comes to its provincial anti-smoking laws and MPP John Abbot says it is time to take this hard line even further. Mr. Abbot wants the province to create the country’s first “smokers registry.”
It would be a publicly accessed list that would require anyone who smokes to “let the provincial government know where they plan on taking a puff.”
“This will be useful for both smokers and non-smokers,” says Abbot, “The time has come for us to know where smokers live, work and, most importantly, smoke, so the non-smoking public can make decisions based on this information.”
Talking to Muslim friends, I can’t help but believe that the audacity of today’s anti-Semitism is in part a result of the exploitation of a “victim status,” an underdog sentiment that too many European Muslims have embraced enthusiastically. This is not just the sort of social-science explanation we often hear for hatred, as racism from people who are themselves the victims of racism and discrimination.
One friend, whose parents are from Turkey, told me that when she learned about the Holocaust at her German school, she wondered what all that had to do with her biography. As someone born in 1973, though with blond hair, I could ask the same question.
Caught The Narrow Margin on TCM this week. Really good!
Great dialogue includes: “You make me sick to my stomach!” “Well, don’t use my sink.”
Too bad the film is largely forgotten today, because not only is it a first-rate example of the post-war film noir genre, it also takes place almost entirely on a train. Director Richard Fleischer exploits the narrow corridors and cramped compartments to maximum effect, heightening the sense of claustrophobia and the paranoia of being trapped without an exit. What’s more, Fleischer uses the sound of the moving train continuously in the background which generates a certain driving tension. The train interiors were all shot on an RKO soundstage while exterior station scenes were lensed in Los Angeles’ Union Station; all in an amazingly short 15-day schedule.
The Narrow Margin is generally considered a “model” B picture; some film buffs go farther than that, labelling this 1952 RKO suspenser as the best low-budget studio production ever made.
Clocking in at a lean 71minutes, there isn’t a trace of gristle in this thriller that’s as juicy and satisfying as a thick sirloin steak. Fleischer made a beautiful looking film with near perfect lighting and camera work. The latter aspect comes into play in many scenes but especially the fantastic fist fight between Kemp and Brown in a train washroom. Using a handheld camera (unusual for the time and especially fist fights), the principle actors, low angles and tight shots, make for an amazingly gritty scene of fisticuffs in such a confined, ‘narrow’ space. Fleischer expertly plays with the claustrophobic and restricted space of the train throughout the film and as the tension increases, the shots seem to get tighter and tighter. Another extraordinary aspect and bold choice on Fleischer’s part is the omission of a music soundtrack. In place of a score, Fleischer prominently features the sounds of the train and its workings to audibly add to the mood. From the loud banging together of boxcars forewarning gunplay, to a nice sound match scene transition between Windsor nervously filing her nails and the wheels of the train rhythmically churning, the film is full of these interesting plays of sound and story.
If you missed it, you can watch it on your computer HERE.
The original decency-makers were the wonderfully named ‘Dance Music Policy Committee’ which was set up in the 1930s and in their role as the guardians of British pop-culture, they once said: “We have recently adopted a policy of excluding sickly sentimentality which, particularly when sung by certain vocalists, can become nauseating and not at all in keeping with what we feel to be the need of the public in this country in the fourth year of war.”
“However did they win…?”
(Not banned, but related:)
Anthony Sacramone writes:
Galt is then subjected to Project F (if I’m not mistaken, in the book it’s Project X, but traduttore traditore). This is the secret project the State Science Institute had been working on, and to which Hank Rearden had refused to contribute his metal: a torture device akin to the thing Rambo’s hooked up to in his own Part II. Galt is tied to what looks like a chain link fence, arms outstretched (yes, Christ-like), and 100 million billion trillion zillion volts of electricity are shot through his 20% body fat.
Does he relent, agree to play ball, be a moocher, a quisling, a plodder? I don’t want to give away the ending, but I will anyway. He’s just fine. Remember: it’s a government-made torture machine.
John Derbyshire writes:
The Kingdom’s nationhood has anyway been blurred and diminished by the twin curses of Europeanization and multiculturalism. Laws passed by the people’s elected representatives in Parliament are now subordinate to the whims of foreign mountebanks like those on the European Court of Human Rights.
The people themselves have been replaced, in one of the greatest acts of collective folly known to the annals of mankind. Worse yet, they have been replaced not by the garlicky gesticulating continentals their grandfathers scoffed at, but largely by Muslims and blacks, the two most troublesome, least assimilable of all human populations.